


Tournament Hook-ups

by orphan_account



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hook-Up, One Night Stands, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23457337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Some one shot pairings between a few operators after the events of the Tournament of the Champions. Some rare, mostly hetero shameless smut.
Relationships: Elena "Mira" María Álvarez/Mike "Thatcher" Baker, Grace "Dokkaebi" Nam/Taina "Caveira" Pereira
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Tournament Hook-ups

The doors to the locker room slammed shut as some of its final few souls departed for a long walk down to ‘νέκταρ σου’. It was a private bar near the arena that had been rented by Six; he had anticipated the nightly celebration that would follow the tournament’s conclusion. The operators all proudly bore aches, bruises, and bandaged cuts that would feel even worse in the morning. Mike and Seamus had insisted to the others that everyone would have to start their drinking early to delay the painful reality to come hours later. For those who were still on the fence, a call from Six scolding them for not already being at the bar while he waited was enough to spur everyone to hurry.

All except Dokkaebi.

It wasn’t because she didn’t like drinking, or Rainbow’s new commander. Grace liked Six. She liked how personable he was; how he refused to judge her, despite how easy a target she must have been. He, like some of the older men in Rainbow, had become a mentor. She appreciated his advice the most, since he was always eager to give it without making her feel like a child. She appreciated Mike as well, and even Chul, to some degree; but those two were set in their ways and prone to paternalism, which she wasn’t fond of. When Six gave advice, he treated her like an equal, like a colleague. He did so for all of them. It was why she knew he’d understand if she was a bit late.

In fact, she wasn’t the only one who’d be late. There was one other still in the locker room. The Brazilian.

It wasn’t intentional on Grace’s part, the move to wait for the BOPE operative to exit from the showers. Not consciously, at least. But perhaps in her subconscious, she knew that her victory would only be real once she saw Caveira’s reaction to her.

And what a reaction it was.

The Brazilian woman was fully nude after emerging from the showers, having forgotten her towel at her locker, and strode nearly noiseless over the room’s tiled floor, with only the water flowing from her swarthy skin in rivulets and squelching beneath her feet signaling her presence. She stopped in her tracks once she saw that Grace was sitting before her locker, dressed in her signature t-shirt and overalls.

There was a loaded silence between the two women for a few beats. Grace felt her breath grow shallow, and her stomach began to knot. Outwardly, she kept a cool face, but she was a mess on the inside. She was confused; why was she still feeling this way? She had beaten Caveira; she had shot her in the forehead. She had _won_.

And yet, as she stared up at the tall Brazilian woman, at the toned definition of her muscles, at the full feminine curves that shaped her body, Grace felt herself wither beneath the hazel gaze. The same gaze that had looked at her with indifference and derision ever since she had joined Rainbow; a passive contempt that said, _‘You don’t belong here.’_

It was Caveira who broke the silence.

“You were lucky. Had I subdued the Englishman sooner, you would have been next.”

Grace’s chest grew heated, and she shot up from the bench with a retort. “That is not true. You dropped the ball. We beat you to it,” confidence was building within her. “ _I_ beat you.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Caveira snorted as she walked around Grace, shoulder checking her along the way. She opened her locker and pulled out a towel. She didn’t bother to cover up, only patting herself down briskly to dry off. “You wouldn’t have stood a chance without—,” she was cut off by a hand yanking her braid and pulling her back.

She was quick in trying to break the hold, but Grace was quicker, and used her leverage on the braid to close the distance and trip Caveira up. They went down together in a tangle of limbs, the Korean on top and holding the heavier woman in a choke.

Although she tried her hardest to secure her grip, Grace knew that it would be futile: Caveira’s skin wasn’t fully dry, and her knowledge of Brazilian jiu jitsu far outmatched her attacker’s. In less than a minute, Caveira had slipped out of the hold and now kept Grace pinned on the floor.

“ _S_ _ua puta burra —_you fucked up,” Caveira sat on Grace’s stomach, and was using only one of her larger hands to keep the smaller woman’s wrists together on the floor above her head. “You get one lucky shot and you think things have changed? You think that you can dominate me? That you are my equal?” the Brazilian bent her head down until the cut on her forehead was visible. “Never.”

Grace gritted her teeth. “It was not… lucky… shot!” she kicked and writhed in a desperate attempt to get out. When it became obvious that escape was impossible, she curled her lip and spat up in Caveira’s face.

The Brazilian flinched back and blinked in surprise, although she didn’t weaken her grip, and fixed her hazel gaze to the woman beneath her. Then, slowly, she bent down again, and Grace winced as she felt the wetness of her own saliva trail from Caveira’s nose, down onto her lips and cheek. Never did their eyes break contact.

Hazel on brown, thumping hearts audible to each other’s ears, heavy breathing growing more and more labored as Caveira’s mouth gradually hovered over Grace’s…

Their lips joined and they moaned together with such passion that they broke apart almost immediately. Caveira scrambled off and away, knocking her head against the bench as she wrapped her arms about her knees. Grace did the same, only in the opposite direction and pressing her back against the base of the lockers instead. They stared at each other as though only truly seeing the other for the first time. Then Caveira pounced.

Grace leaped to meet her. They wrestled in a violent and wanton embrace, hungrily kissing and biting in constant claims for dominance. Already naked, Caveira was first to impose her will, and after drawing blood at Grace’s neck, forced the other woman between her thighs, where a lashing tongue stoked wet heat. When it was the Korean’s turn, Caveira tore the denim of Grace’s overalls and locked legs.

They grinded against each other, sloshing sounds and moans filling the locker room as they competed to make the other come first. Caveira won, having had more experience. They tried four more times, with Grace winning two out of five. Finally they exhausted themselves and lay together in a puddle of sweat, water, and stickier fluids.

Caveira weakly sat up and looked down at Grace, to whom she offered her first real smile, as sly and dark as it was.

“It was still a lucky shot.”

Grace groaned and covered her face with a hand. “Really? After all of that?”

“Without it, you wouldn’t have tasted my _boceta_.”

* * *

They entered the bar shoulder to shoulder, silly grins on their faces as they were greeted by all the others. No one questioned Grace and Taina’s newfound friendship, as awkward as they seemed to be around one another. Some, like Mike and Elena (who watched from the counter), even thought it was cute as the pair of women sat together in one of the bar booths and fed each other chips.

“See?” Mike nudged Elena with an elbow as Grace moved in to place a kiss on Taina’s neck. “Nothing like a good old fuck to iron out differences between people. That’s what Labour and Tory should do come next election.”

Elena chuckled softly and asked. “How do you know that they fucked?”

Mike’s hand squeezed the woman’s thigh. “It doesn’t take an hour to get from the arena to here, does it?”

“No,” said Elena, gently resting her empty bottle of beer over the man’s hand. “But now I’m jealous. No man here will last as long.”

“Is that so?” Mike’s brow arched, and he inched his hand up Elena’s leg. “You want to test that hypothesis?”

The Spanish woman gave him a knowing look, then left the stool and headed for the unisex bathroom. Mike cleared his throat, looked around, and soon followed.


End file.
